


Care and Feeding of Witches

by DefinitelyNotScott



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/M, Napping, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotScott/pseuds/DefinitelyNotScott
Summary: It's Morwen's turn to be taken care of when she catches a cold.





	Care and Feeding of Witches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReleasingmyInsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReleasingmyInsanity/gifts).



“Morwen,” Telemain’s voice queried, half bemused and half annoyed. “What is this animal attempting to communicate?”

“What?” Morwen looked up from the book she was trying to decipher, blinking at him to bring him into focus through her glasses. The translation wasn’t going well, and it was giving her a headache.

“Ah!” said Telemain, as if that answered his question. The air of pleased discovery in his voice rankled with her current mood. “You’ve contracted some kind of malady!”

“I have n-” she began to deny his assertion, but a rapid self-evaluation (and Scorn’s judgemental stare) forced her to admit that he was correct. “I am sick, aren’t I?” she said ruefully. Without her book to distract her, the blurry vision, the headache, the vague achy feeling she had ascribed to hunching over her work - they all made much more sense as symptoms of an illness.

“I’m better at diagnosing _spells_ , but I think it’s safe to say ‘Yes,’” he said, walking over and placing a cool hand on her cheek. At least, it _felt_ cool. She was probably burning up. 

She looked down at her work with a sigh. She was _right in the middle_ of her research! 

“Here, I’ll mark your places while you get ready for a nap,” Telemain suggested. A nap sounded _marvelous_. 

“All right,” she said, reluctantly drawing herself to her feet. How bothersome! She was sure to lose her train of thought. “Don’t forget,” she began, but Telemain interrupted.

“I am familiar with your methods of organization!” Under his breath, he added a muttered, “...even if they _are_ inefficient.” 

Morwen decided against engaging with that comment, and turned toward the bedroom, Scorn trotting along at her side.

“You didn’t listen when _I_ suggested a nap.”

“Maybe I would have if you had explained your reasoning,” Morwen said tartly.

Scorn immediately found something that urgently needed washing on her shoulder and paused to take care of it.

Morwen politely refrained from snorting, and continued on to the bedroom. When she arrived, Jasmine was curled up on the quilt and only the rapid twitching of one ear indicated she’d noticed anything at all. Morwen’s puttering about, removing shoes and finding her nightgown roused her a little more. She yawned and stretched her front legs, barely opening her eyes a crack.

“Did you need me, Morwen?”

“No, I’ll just be joining you for a nap.”

Jasmine let out a comfortable little “Prrrp!” sound and curled back up. “What a good idea.” 

Morwen shook her head at Jasmine’s attitude, and climbed into the bed. The cotton pillowcase felt cool and heavenly on her hot cheek, and she quickly drifted off, despite the weight and pressure of her head.

Some time later she awoke, groggy and still aching. Jasmine had moved closer, pressed up against her side.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your slumber,” Telemain said. 

He sat on the edge of the bed as she turned over and groped at the bedside table for her glasses. Jasmine made a soft noise of objection before rolling to the side and stretching, a wide yawn baring her needle-sharp teeth. 

In retrospect Morwen should have gotten a drink before she went to sleep, preferably one of her tonics. But once she rubbed the sand from her eyes and put on her glasses she could see a mug in Telemain’s hands. Splendid. She had a strong partiality for her own tonics, but Telemain’s were equally effective, merely less tailored to her personal taste. 

“I concocted an ameliorative draught,” he said, offering it to her.

“As long as it’s not experimental,” she said, reaching to take the mug.

“No, an old family recipe. Optimized, of course.” He sat watching her take her first sip. It tasted of herbs and honey, not too different from a simple tea infusion. 

“Not bad,” she said. 

“Of course not!” he answered irritably. “You’re not going back to work, are you?”

“I’m not you, Telemain,” she said with a small smile.

He ignored that, focused intently on her face. “...Because you look terrible.”

“I _feel_ terrible,” she said, and drained the rest of the mug before setting on the table. “I’m not getting up just yet.” She leaned back on her pillow and scooched back under the quilt. 

He hadn’t moved yet, so she reached to take the hand that was resting on his knee. “Tell me about how you optimized your recipe.”

“Well,” Telemain began. “It was a simple calculation once the determinate variables were outlined.” 

Morwen smiled, muzzily following Telemain’s explanation until she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
